this is me. and this is you.

Such talent and abilty.

Handsome young and ambitious.

A one man army against the world.

Making history.

Inside my own little world.

Remembering the you.

dont just read. See. Look.

*the Phalic Queen*

my arrongance has been a mother to me.
it has punished me, clothed and fed me.
it has been my one true friend who has never ran away.
even when everybody seem to find such flaws as they look my way.
my arrogance has put one arm 'round my shoulder,
and gave everyone else the godly finger.

yet as you spoke to me that day, and you carefully settled my shield down.
you held my hand and asked me why.
i was lost. for without it i panic and shiver.
yet again you put such warmth within and told me theres nothing to fear.
you are amongst friends and family.
and as i looked at the words which you sang,
it was true.

and for ever i will be grateful to you.
Thank you.


*the Phalic Queen*

the thoughts of a father.

im holding on while i see my sins in light.

as my fingers quiver i try to stay strong with all my might.

the tears were forbidden to flow,

yet as they trickle down the plains of my cheek, it gives of a heavenly glow.

i keep my eyes close, not wanting to see the jury around me.

the people who love me.

yet my eyes pry open to see all hands together,

united in prayer.

they know, it is only a matter of time.
before the angels come, for me to repent for all my crimes.

so many thoughts rush thru my head.

from the prison walls to mums famous breakfast in bed.

the pain becomes too much to bear.
the jury hears me curse and swear.

i drew one last breath for i know that the time is now.
the ensemble sucks in the tears as all their heads bow.

as i slowly faded,

you came running in looking all grown up and jaded.

i asked Him for a chance to say good bye to you.
He replied, its too late to apologise. For now you become immortal,

let her start anew.

and forever you will live.

there.

where the blind see the sun and the deaf listens to the wind.
where stories end with a comma, where a good deed is a sin.

a promise is born.
like a blooming rose which shelters its thorn.

a promise concieved by meer words enchained in a sentence.
a feeling so emense, that even in an empty room, it leaves a presence.

it was concieved by the purest of lights, and the hardest of stone.
it was meant to be received, yet right there it stands alone.

now mistaken for the ghost of christmas past, it is shunned and feared.
when all it is trying to do is to find its purpose, to finally be heard.

so it rest and waits where the blind see the sun and the deaf listens to the wind.
where stories end with a comma, where a good deed is a sin.

with a pain in its heart that even the heavens dare not bear,
it waits, right........

there.

Tribute to Greatness.

And now i tell you a tale of a spartan friend.

My friend who because of me, was bruised batttered and met her tragic end.

Against all odds, she battled the her foes in the pits of tatarus, climbing the walls of hell.

Licking her wounds dry, with her eyes fixed in the sky, feeding her rage with, revenge, that, she shall.

In the fields of olympus i sit wit zeus and the rest of the gang reminding them of this day.

Never forgetting in death one can truely apprecieate life and all of its dismay.

Against all odds here she comes like the mesiah himself, to give life the joy death brings.. my spartan friend.



End.

TO HALIM: LIFE WELL SPENT. GOD BLESS.

i call this painting.. a poem

i sit on the boat we bought, out at sea,
a place long forgot.
armed with a brush as my sword, and the canvas as my shield,
i set out to capture the Sun and all that it shines upon, i begin to wield.
as i focus on the mission at hand,
as my heart and mind blend,
a meer refraction of its perfection shone on to me and made me meek.
it was then i realised, i was weak.
i know then that my pride as a hero will fall.
becasue i could trap its magnificence in a thousand prisons on a thousand walls.
and be known as the hero who captured the blazing fury.
but in truth, i am the king born a man, made humble by the suns Majesty.

10th march 2004

as i put pen to paper, this pen bleeds black.
in a deafening silence it screams my worries, my confessions and all that i lack.
i have given up. i choose the lesser of life now.
humbled no more by the mercy of God, my joy is the end of all sorrow, with a heavy head i bow.

my hands slither and tremble to have this decree done before i disappear.
yet i find such beauty as my tears soak the very words i scarred on this paper.
theses lines on my hands, are like my little medals, my trophy.
for the birth of every single on of them, puts me on a plain of ecstacy.

as ivory hearts bleed crimson blood, i pray not to God , but to you.
never give up lie i did.

the 14th storey has quite a view....

12th March 1980

In a baby’s breath, one can realise the length of a second.
Vast and great is time, yet we hang it on a mere wall, forgetting its greatness in grains of sand.
Against all odds, it lives forever, with every child born, with every shedded tear.
Nudging you to remember, that it is precious, so live life to the fullest, live it without fear.

Happy birthday
12th March 1980---


“The death of a man is grieved and last mere generations, but the legacy he leaves behind will stay as ancient as time.”
Shahrman Nair...

10th March 1988

May the truth be told that angels exist.
Amongst the spawns of Lucifer which creeps from the deep abyss.
Righteous, true and the strong stand rooted to their ground.
In hope that the lost, the hurt and the fallen know where faith can be found.
Such a conscience have this knights of the above carry, for the war they fight is with all your whims and worry.
So the hurt, the scarred and the fallen can walk thru path slithered by creatures eyes black as pearl.
And realise the name i have strung out of this decree, is a living breathing and forgiving angel.

happy birthday

10th March 1988-